Boiling Over
by Eerie
Summary: Dojima is stressed by the recent case going nowhere, and has nothing on which to take out his frustration. One hot summer night Souji pushes him over the edge... Graphic slash, abuse, etc...


**!Advisory**: Noncon, abuse, incest

**Boiling Over**

The night rested upon a dense calm, reinforced by the cicadas' steadfast songs, and the air had pleasantly cooled down after another scorching August day in Inaba. Souji sat on the living room floor in his thin green boxers and an old over-washed tank top that gaped at the neck and arm holes, allowing the refreshing breeze currently flowing in through the open screen door to sweep over his skin. Nanako was away at a friend's until tomorrow, and he didn't have work that night. Dojima would be at the police station until late, as usual. It had been so wretchedly hot all day that sitting there with a glass of iced tea, the fans whirring, and the entire house to himself almost felt restorative. In truth, though, it had been ridiculously warm all week, and he had been having trouble sleeping lately as a result. Right now he was content to let himself simply relax, zone out and stare at the mindless tripe on television for a while.

He had been so completely sucked into his cheesy crime drama that the sound of the front door suddenly sliding open and slamming back shut made him violently jump. He hadn't even heard the car pull in. Dojima's incoherent grumbling accompanied the two heavy thuds of the man's shoes falling to the hallway floor.

Souji immediately reached for the remote control and turned the television volume down low. He could tell even without seeing his expression that his uncle was in an especially bad mood tonight. Sure enough, a scowl greeted him from Dojima's stubbled face across the room. The curious glare in those dark eyes hardly sweetened that greeting.

"Welcome back," Souji called, waiting for the inevitable acid retort. Though he was no stranger to Dojima's moods, it never failed to make him nervous when his uncle was vexed by something. His own father, admittedly something of a pushover, never got that way.

Dojima looked at his watch before moving to set his keys down on the table. "What are you still doing up?"

Souji shrugged even though the man wasn't looking at him. "Can't sleep. My room's too hot."

Dojima sighed. "You really shouldn't make this a habit. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"It's _Saturday_," Souji corrected him with a tinge of playful teasing.

Dojima, however, either didn't catch it or was unwilling to bend his temperament for lighthearted games. "Nanako asleep?"

"She's staying the night at Mai's."

Dojima grunted and busied himself with prying his tie loose. Once the thing hung in a haphazard angle at his collar, he opened the refrigerator and gave its contents a quick inspection. Not seeing what he wanted, he slammed it shut with a gruff curse.

Reaching out toward the table, he snatched the car keys back up. "Goin' out for beer. If you're so restless why don't you make yourself useful and straighten this mess up." He gestured toward the table surface littered with stained coffee mugs, crushed cigarette boxes, mauled bills, and plastic toys, among other things. Though nothing on that table belonged to Souji, he muttered his compliance anyway. He wondered if it would be one of those nights where he'd be better off poised to walk on eggshells.

As Dojima bustled back out into the night, Souji mused over what might have happened to make his uncle so thoroughly riled up this time. Probably an unbalanced workload, with the scales tipping heavily in the detective's direction. Or maybe it was Naoto's mere presence at the station again. Dojima's patience existed as a fragile organism in and of itself lately. No wonder Nanako liked to spend nights over at her friends' houses more often than to remain at her own.

Souji hauled himself up, switching the television off, and wandered toward his unwanted task. He picked up all of Nanako's toys first and deposited them in her room before attacking the trash strewn about next. He even emptied the mountain of butts from the ashtray. And finally, once only paperwork remained, he tried to sort the various pages into organized piles.

A thick, worn manila folder lay shoved beneath what was otherwise random invoices, magazines, and shopping lists from months ago. He carefully picked it out and opened it, immediately recognizing the contents as the case file on Dojima's late wife. There were even photographs from the crime scene paper-clipped to the oldest reports at the back. Souji stared slack-jawed at the images. At the angry black tire marks, the blood, the protruding bones. Though he hadn't seen his aunt in ages, he remembered what she looked like. This was different. He'd have barely recognized her at all if he hadn't known what he was looking at in the first place. Cold guilt sloshed through him. He felt like an invader, despite the few times his uncle had actually talked with him about the incident.

Yet the more he thought about it, the more he realized he could not fathom why Dojima would stash something like this in relatively plain sight. What if Nanako discovered it by accident? How would she react upon seeing these photographs? He imagined she would need intensive psychiatric help for the rest of her life. Souji snorted in disbelief and shuffled the pages back into order before closing the folder again. The guilt he had felt just seconds ago dissolved into dull anger. He didn't want to put this back on the table where it could so very easily be discovered by the wrong hands. His fantasy continued to incense him, and he decided to leave the folder sitting out at Dojima's usual spot at the table. Everything else he replaced and straightened with careful neatness.

Hardly a moment after Souji's busywork was completed, Dojima returned with a case of Kirin Ichiban tucked under his arm. Choosing to ignore the much-improved state of the surface upon which he set his beer, Dojima opened the box and withdrew a bottle. After a harsh twist to the cap and a long pull, he tucked the rest into the refrigerator. As he turned to make his way to the living room couch, his eyes settled on the familiar manila folder and he stopped short.

Souji had been standing against the wall between the table and the couch, his eyes trained on Dojima's reactions. The latter looked up at him, confusion and irritation written over his expression.

"What the hell is this? Were you snooping through my files?"

Souji shook his head. "No. I _found_ it when I was cleaning. Under Nana-chan's toys."

Dojima grit his teeth. "And? You just decided to just leave it out like an open invitation?" He swept the folder up possessively.

Souji scoffed. "If it wasn't me it would have been _her_. I can't believe you left that here. All those times she was home alone. Doing _chores_! It's a miracle she hasn't seen it yet!" His tone had elevated steadily.

Dojima tilted his half empty bottle at his nephew and fought to control his voice. "She knows better than to go through my things. That's how it is in this house. We don't touch what isn't ours because there are boundaries. You'd best remember that, because as long as you live under my roof you are _not_ an exception, Souji."

When Dojima turned to retreat upstairs, Souji found himself compelled to further retort. "Then what about you? Are you an exception?"

He'd never instigated an argument with his guardian before; that was truthfully a prospect he did not relish in the least. Maybe it was the lingering effects from the delirium that the summer heat had brought on. Maybe it was the insomnia. Or maybe it was the built-up frustration caused by everything he himself had to juggle on a daily basis. Whatever it was, Dojima's total lack of consideration for his daughter's mental well-being rubbed him the wrong way. And in the worst way possible. Nanako was a child, an innocent. It was her natural right to be that way for as long as she could, and it was Dojima's job to protect that at all costs.

Dojima stopped and the tension in the room became palpable. He turned, slowly. Though the surprise was evident on his face, his voice had darkened. "_What_ did you just say?"

"I think you heard me," Souji replied more softly. His heart beat faster now, but he wouldn't back down. He knew he was right.

Dojima set the case file down on the first stair and began to close the distance between them. "No, actually, I think I might have misheard you. Say it again."

"I asked if you consider yourself an exception." Souji locked eyes with the taller man now standing before him.

A bemused snort escaped Dojima's nose as he sized up his nephew and lightly rotated the bottle dangling in his fingers. "Well, don't you have a pair on you."

Souji furrowed his brow. Dojima was standing so close to him that Souji could feel the heat from his body, could smell the long day's sweat and the faint trace of his remaining musky deodorant emanate from his clothes. He made a move to step away from Dojima's oppressive form, but the latter shot out an arm, slapping his palm loudly against the wall, and trapped Souji in.

"My day's been shitty enough as it is without having to hear you bitch about something you have nothing to do with. So apologize. Right now."

His heart positively hammered at this point, but that didn't make Souji any less upset. If anything, that adrenaline helped egg him on. "No. I'm not in the wrong here. Now would you please back off?"

Dojima didn't budge an inch. "I don't know what kind of devil's gotten into you today, but it's really starting to piss me off."

Souji had averted his eyes from Dojima's furious ones, but he continued to look troubled. "I'm just trying to look out for your kid, since you don't seem to care anymore."

The bottle had fallen unheeded to the floor, tipping over and leaking foamy fluid in gushes through the carpeting as Dojima lifted his hand to seize a fistful of Souji's battered shirt. He pushed the boy roughly against the wall. Souji could hear the stitches in the shoulders of his tank top strain and begin to rip. He braced himself in anticipation of a blow to the face, but it didn't come. Instead Dojima spoke low, his voice full of suspicion and his face mere centimeters from Souji's.

"Are you high?" Dojima's free hand reached up and gripped Souji by the chin, forcing the boy to face him full on. Souji wordlessly glared as Dojima studied his eyes.

The older man snorted again, but this time the sound was laced with bitter amusement. "Or just being an obstinate little prick?"

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Souji's retaliation came on its own. He wasn't prepared to feel Dojima's heavy palm fly across his face then. Its aftermath stung like hell, but he couldn't quite manage to bring his hand up to soothe the burning in his cheek. His eyes watered from pain and surprise.

"Watch your mouth."

Was it his imagination, or was Dojima's breath coming in shorter, faster bursts? Not that it really mattered. More important was the fact that things were turning violent fast; his uncle had just struck him for God's sake. Souji's indignation and defensiveness in the wake of such a baseless attack flared. He reached up with his right hand and clumsily slugged Dojima in the jaw. Though it momentarily stunned the man, it hadn't been effective enough.

Dojima straightened his smarting jaw with a pop and focused his fury with even more resolve in his nephew's direction. Entwining his fingers roughly in the boy's hair and gripping hard, he pulled that head back and pressed his lips with bruising intent upon Souji's.

The flesh and teeth mashing into his unsuspecting mouth made Souji go rigid in shock. He remained in a state of disbelief and failed to resist when Dojima's tongue probed between his lips, unabashedly groping his own tongue and flicking out against his teeth. He had just barely registered the sensation of a hand sliding down around his side and edging into his waistband before it found purchase on his rear end. When he realized that those fingertips scraped along a little too closely to his cleft, he bit down.

"Fuck!" Dojima pulled away and reeled, holding his mouth. When he drew his hand back to study the damage, blood stained his fingers and his lips.

Souji, for his part, had missed the opportunity to escape when he caught sight of the blood practically gleaming in the dimly lit room. It seemed to transfix him to the spot. He hadn't meant to bite that hard. Or if he had, he wasn't prepared to see that much red as a result.

Dojima glowered at him and wiped the blood unheeded against his slacks before working his necktie undone the rest of the way. He didn't hesitate as he reached out—with the speed and expertise of a trained professional—and twisted Souji's arms behind his back. Souji grunted and bucked in protest, but Dojima wouldn't yield. He weaved his tie swiftly and tightly around the boy's wrists and fastened the ends in a firm, inescapable knot. Once his task was accomplished, Dojima pressed Souji up face-first against the wall.

Souji just barely turned his head to the side to avoid smashing his nose against the wall's hard surface in time. The cool plaster almost felt good on his cheek, but he couldn't take solace in that right now. Dojima stood like a brick wall behind him, the detective's knee resting against the wall between Souji's thighs. His hips were pressed up against Souji's backside, and Souji discovered with nothing short of horror that his uncle was thoroughly aroused. The hardness slowly grinding over his crack, covered only by the suddenly-too-thin material of his boxers, mortified him further. He realized without wanting to that his uncle was fairly well endowed as well. Even less desirable was the question of how that endowment was inevitably going to feel inside him that suddenly sprang into his head. Souji tried to shake that sick little fantasy off just as quick as it came, but it wouldn't quite disappear altogether. He began to tremble.

The hand that had invaded his boxers earlier returned around the front side. There was no ceremony in the way Dojima touched him now. As soon as Souji felt those rough fingers exploring his crotch, he sucked his breath in sharp. His cock was already responding to that brusque touch.

"What the hell are you doing?! Let go!" Souji tried to wriggle away but Dojima corrected him by squeezing the base of his cock like a vise. He squeaked in pain and relented his struggle, but his shaking wouldn't cease.

"Shut up. You don't give the orders around here." Dojima's fingers loosened and began to stroke methodically.

It didn't take long for Souji's body to fall into line, much to his chagrin. He had become so hard it was almost painful, but Dojima wouldn't appease him any longer. The hand eliciting his altered blood flow and agonizingly slow ascent to pleasure stopped without warning and withdrew altogether. Though Souji's mind screamed its gratitude, his body reacted conversely by seeking more tactile sensations. His groin connecting with the wall in the absence of those fingers and he ground against it for several seconds before he even realized what he was doing. The shame of such a pathetic action quickly stayed his hips.

Dojima softly and mirthlessly chuckled behind him but didn't say anything, and Souji felt his face flush at being witnessed in such a whorish display. He hardly had time to brood over his embarrassment before his boxers were gripped and yanked down with excessive force. The material momentarily snagged on his erection and he gasped. No apology was offered. Though the garment did little to keep in his body heat, the air without that barrier suddenly seemed too cold, despite the heat still lingering inside the house. They fell crumpled to his ankles.

Souji felt a heavy weight suddenly lean into his back with Dojima's elbow pressed painfully against his spine to keep him from moving. The alternation between the tinkling and swishing sounds of a belt being unstrapped assailed his ears next, and Souji's eyes went wide. He didn't need to see to know what was going on behind him. The belt fell with a light thud to the floor before the sharp grind of a fly being unzipped followed. Dojima pressed a hand against Souji's head, keeping it connected with the wall. With the other he kept a firm grip on the pair of bound wrists resting on Souji's lower back. Pulling his calves around against the boy's shins, he encouraged, or rather ordered, Souji's legs to both move back and spread further apart.

The sensation of hot, naked flesh falling against and rubbing along the crack of his exposed ass made Souji start in disbelief. He kicked back with his right leg and tried to duck to the side when his heel smacked hard into Dojima's shin. What he got in return was a firmer push to the back of the head, forcing his face even harder against the unyielding wall. The hand holding his wrists lifted away. Then, to his further incredulity, Dojima retaliated with a cutting slap across his rear. It stung even worse than the blow to his face. So much so that he was certain it would leave a welted bruise tomorrow. Of course, that was the last thing he should have been worried about right now.

As if on cue, hot pain blossomed through his body as a pair of saliva-slicked fingers shoved their way into his rectum, stretching him in loveless haste, as if the whole event was just a chore. They groped him unsteadily, and it hurt enough to drown out the pain gripping his awkwardly bent neck. Souji clenched his teeth, wanting nothing more than to lash out again, but fear of getting himself torn made him consider passivity the more attractive option at this point. That didn't mean he had to stay his mouth, however.

"Stop it! God, you're _hurting_ me!"

Those fingers halted and slipped out, leaving Souji a moment to breath easier. Yet that brief repose shattered when the invading hand returned with another finger added. Souji had managed to restrain himself before, but now he cried out. He could feel his body complying uneasily with those fingers inside him. The sensation of his ass being stretched while jutting out was just as humiliating as it was painful.

After a moment of that harsh preparation, Dojima extracted his fingers and spat thickly into his hand. He massaged the wetness down over his shaft, coating it as evenly as possible before pressing the head up against the hole awaiting him. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this was a turning point from which he would never be able to return. But he was so tired from the endless routine, so frustrated with the cases, so generally irritated right now that he really didn't give two fucks about right and wrong.

Still, he carried out his initial penetration of Souji's body with as much care as he could muster. That body went rigid immediately, trying its best to keep him out, but he was too hard to lose that game. His cock was met with a clenched, almost painful greeting as he buried himself inside that infernally hot place.

Souji wailed his discomfort as he was split open. After what seemed like forever, the length sliding into him stopped as Dojima's hips connected with his ass before pulling away again. Then the motions came again and again, quicker and steadier with each thrust. The pain in his neck returned and spread into his back as Dojima held him firm against the rocking movements.

"You're sick. Bastard," Souji spat. His eyes watered uncontrollably now.

All at once, Dojima pulled out and yanked back on Souji's hair. Flying away from the wall, Souji's neck cracked painfully and for a moment he couldn't breathe, much less realize what was now happening. Dojima had flung him down to the floor, on his back, and somehow managed to get his arms to the front side of his body. Souji winced as his bound wrists were pinned over his head by a strong hand. His legs were forced up as Dojima settled between them; his thighs slung high over either of the man's clothed sides. Dojima didn't waste any time before he pushed back in and resumed his work.

"If you've got something to say…unn…say it to my face."

Souji finally opened his damp eyes and parted his lips to fire that accusation again, but quickly fell dumb. Dojima glared down at Souji like a demon as he fucked him, his bloodied mouth open to breathe as he continued to get off at his nephew's expense. The sight of it was too surreal and nightmarish for Souji to reply. He looked away instead. His own shameful arousal had withered some time ago once the pain set in, and now he felt like little more than a helpless passenger along for the ride.

Dojima slid a calloused thumb teasingly over Souji's flaccid cock before taking it up and coaxing it to life. His strokes were brisk and skilled, though rough, and it wasn't long before Souji was hard again. He was dismayed. The last thing he wanted was to enjoy this. But Dojima wasn't relenting now, and he knew the attention on his body would inevitably catch up with him and betray his desire.

"I told you to say it again. _I'm_ sick? Was that it?" Dojima sneered as he dragged the tip of his thumb through the precum pearled over Souji's slit and forced it between its owner's lips. "Seems to me you're getting off just fine."

Souji jerked his head to the side in disgust, but not before Dojima's thumb had scraped the last of the precum against his clenched teeth.

As if to prove a point, Dojima lifted Souji's hips a bit higher and plunged in deep before resuming his handjob. He then leaned over and took one of Souji's nipples—currently lying bare from the crookedly gaping armhole of his tank top—between his teeth, biting down with just the right amount of restraint. Souji jerked and whimpered, and his tender bud was subsequently licked in a seemingly apologetic manner.

Whether it was from the relentless outer stimulation or the shifted angle of the cock slamming into him, Souji couldn't stop himself from groaning. He realized with a twist of nausea that he didn't want this to stop. Not anymore.

Dojima apparently shared the same frame of mind. His eyes rolled back and closed as he hovered over his work, occasionally muttering soft curses as he thrust. His hips gained momentum in time with his fingers on Souji's cock, guiding them both closer to culmination.

Souji bit down on his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut. It was all he could do to keep from screaming out. Somehow he had retained the memory that the side door was still open; his cries could easily leak out into the hollow night and pique their neighbors' interests.

Suddenly lurching down, Dojima caught Souji's mouth in his own once again. Aside from the lingering taste of blood that flowed in over his tongue with the saliva, it seemed like a real kiss this time. Though he couldn't bring himself to return it, Souji groaned into that mouth and allowed it to do its will without protest. He hardly realized he was moving his hips in a vain effort to take more in, and his orgasm followed fast. He moaned into the narrow space that had opened between their mouths when Dojima relinquished his lips and shot his load over both the man's hand and his own chest.

Dojima filled that space his own way when he felt Souji squeezing down on him. "Oh, fuck, yes. God, you're such a slut. Yes!"

As he floated back down from his ecstasy, Souji began to register the burning sensation of the carpet chaffing his back as Dojima plowed in and out of him without remorse. He suddenly pulled out without warning and pumped his erection in a few firm strokes with a cum-slicked hand. He came hard, spilling his seed in pools over Souji's heaving chest.

After a moment of rest, while they both struggled to catch their breath, Dojima leaned over and began to pick the knot out of his tie. When it came undone, he pulled the strip of material away from Souji's reddened wrists and slung it over the back of his neck. Then he stood, tucking himself back into his underwear and fastening his pants.

After picking up the dropped bottle from the floor, he made his way to the kitchen and deposited it in the trash. Retrieving a fresh one from the refrigerator, he moved toward the stairway. Seeing that Souji hadn't moved, he stopped and sighed.

"Get yourself cleaned up and go to bed." He picked the folder up from the stair.

Souji sat up slowly and rubbed at his sore wrists, though his body ached all over. "That's all you have to say?" He didn't bother to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

"…Good night."

Souji sat facing the wall, listening as Dojima's steps ascended the stairs. More than anything now he suddenly felt exhausted and somehow, from the depths of his lingering fury, he imagined he would sleep like the dead tonight.


End file.
